Here There be Drabbles
by GeneratorCat
Summary: bat family drabble series. mostly JayTim. rated M for chapter 4.
1. lost poptarts

Tim opens the door, sees Dick's guilty puppy smile, and immediately slams it shut.

A muffled whine of, "Timmy, come on!" comes from the outside. Tim waits. He knows he will eventually let Dick come in. But he's still pissed. So let the bastard wait. "Seriously, Tim, this is important. An emergency, even. Please let us in."

Us? Relenting- out of curiosity, mind you, not because Dick actually persuaded him- he opens the door again. This time he notices that Jason is standing next to Dick.

"What do you want?"

Dick hesitates, grimacing but also smiling, trying to be placating, until his face twists hilariously and Tim wants to laugh at it but keeps it in. When Dick continues to struggle to find words that will appease, Tim looks to Jason.

Jason just shrugs. Really helpful.

Dick starts babbling, "he doesn't know, I figured I would wait until we were all together to explain and I don't want to bother you but we kind of need some hel-"

"Dick," Tim snaps. "You know what I want to hear right now. Next words out your mouth better be a fucking apology." Tim stares the man down, using his most threatening glare. Which is actually pretty intimidating. He's proud of it.

Squirming under the stare, Dick finally cracks. "I'm sorry. Really super-duper sorry."

Not enough. Say it. "What for?"

He glances at Jason and then looks back at Tim imploringly. "Now?"

"Yes."

The whimper Dick lets out is sweet poetry to Tim's betrayed ears. "I'm… sorry for breaking in to your apartment last week." He adds softly, "I thought you were still out of town."

Tim crosses his arms over his chest. "Not an excuse, Dick. What else?"

"And I'm sorry for having sex in your bed."

"And?"

"For not telling you until after you had already slept in it."

"You didn't _tell me_ , Dick. You confessed when I cornered you with the condom wrapper I found in my sheets."

Jason looks suitably horrified. He mutters, "Oh, shit…"

Yes. Oh, shit indeed. Tim glares at Dick. "Go on."

"I'm sorry for leaving Wally drunk on your couch and I'm sorry you had to take care of him and clean up after him the next morning."

"One more thing," Tim growls.

Hanging his head in shame, Dick whispers, "…I'm sorry I ate all of your poptarts."

Jason gasps.

Tim yells. "All of my fucking poptarts, Dick! And they were _s'mores!_ "

Throwing his hands over his face, Dick shrieks, "I know! I'm so sorry, Tim. I'll buy you so many poptarts- all the poptarts in Gotham!"

"Damn right you will."

Shaking his head, Jason says, "He said you might be mad at him for something, but… fuck."

"Am I forgiven?"

"You'll be forgiven when I get those poptarts."


	2. funny face

Jason is a secretary. Administrative Assistant. Communications Manager.

He answers phones and gets coffee.

Today is his first day at Wayne Enterprises. He's nervous. He is in no way qualified for this job. He has zero office experience. He has no idea why he even was hired in the first place, but now that he's got it, like hell is he doing to mess this up. He woke up far too early this morning, groomed himself meticulously, dressed on his finest attire, and even stopped by his favorite bakery. He wanted to make a good impression and who doesn't like chocolate muffins? Wait, plenty of people don't. Some people are allergic to chocolate. So he also gets blueberry. And banana nut. And bran. Jason ends up with a sizable box over flowing with every type of muffin available. Just to cover all the bases.

Carrying his box of boss-impressing goodies, Jason walks onto the WE building and rides the elevator up to the 37th floor. He steps out into the office, not exactly sure where to go. He doesn't know where his boss's office is. Hell, he doesn't even know who his boss is. He had been interviewed by some random Human Resources flunky. All he knows is the name: Timothy Drake.

With that information Jason wanders around, reading all the name tags on the office doors. He doesn't want to have to ask anyone for help just yet. What kind of image would that send? Not a competent one, certainly. After circling nearly the entire floor, Jason starts to panic. Just a bit. He has yet to see the name Timothy Drake anywhere. He's just meandering around with a bunch of muffins. A few people glance at him but no one offers to help. Just when he's about to swallow his pride and ask, he sees it. Tucked away in the back corner: the office of Timothy Drake.

Jason rushes over while trying not to look like he's rushing. There's a little desk outside the door, nearly empty but for a phone and computer monitor. Jason figures it's his desk now. Setting down the muffins, he plops down in the seat with a relieved sigh. He looks at his watch; he's early. About thirty minutes early. Fuck. What is he supposed to do for thirty minutes?

His stomach lets out a thunderous protest and Jason realizes that in all his anxiety he forgot to eat this morning. Good thing he brought so many fucking muffins. Seriously, he got too many muffins. Was all of this for one man? Was he planning on sharing with the whole office? Jason doesn't even know anymore. He picks up a cranberry muffin with powdered sugar on top and devours the thing. He didn't realize he was so hungry. He finishes it quickly and goes for a pistachio next. Then a chocolate, those are his favorite. Jason sits there, eating, zoning out in a sugar and butter and flour induced haze. For two full minutes he doesn't even notice the person standing in front of him.

"Good morning."

Jason jumps, choking on the muffin he had been in the process of shoving into his mouth. He coughs, trying not spit any of it out. When he finally manages to swallow he looks up and sees a young man sporting a far too amused grin.

"Hi," Jason croaks out.

The guy looks down at the desk and laughs softly. A half dozen muffin papers litter the surface. Jason is only slightly embarrassed by that.

"You have sugar lips."

"Excuse me?"

"Powdered sugar. Around your mouth."

"Oh, shit." Jason hurriedly wipes his face. "Thanks."

"Are you the new assistant?"

"Yeah. Jason."

"Tim."

"Do you want a muffin?"

Tim smiles and tilts his head and it's actually pretty cute. Really fucking cute. He's young, younger than Jason and Jason figures he's an assistant to someone else on the floor. He takes a banana nut muffin and Jason just sits there, staring at the kid as he bite into it. He makes a pleased noise that affects Jason in a slightly unprofessional way. "This is really good." He flicks out his tongue to lick up some crumbs from his lips.

"Yeah. Good. Yes." Fuck. Jason can't even get out a whole sentence now.

Wait.

"Tim?"

"Hm?"

"As in Timothy Drake?"

Tim smiles again and tilts his head the other way and eats his muffin and Jason has too many thoughts flying around but he knows he is totally screwed when Tim hums and winks and walks into his office.


	3. six inches

Jason should have learned by now to keep his fucking mouth shut. He's gotten in enough trouble from his "bad attitude" to see this coming, really. But to be fair, that guy's outfit was lame. Honestly, too terrible for Jason to _not_ say anything. And that damn mage was annoying as shit. Just the whole package for the kind of villain Jason doesn't have the patience to deal with civilly. So Jason had opened his big mouth and let loose the insults and sarcasm and here he is, shrunk down to six inches tall.

Six inches. You know what you can't do when you're six inches tall? Fucking everything.

After he shrank Red Hood, that magical asshole had just left. Laughing. Jason balls his tiny fists remembering that laugh. He's standing in an ally, pissed as all hell. Oh, and naked. Cause that fucker didn't see the need to shrink Jason's clothes along with his body. They're laying next him in the filth and trash of Gotham.

He walks over to his precious helmet, all dirty now that it's laying on the ground. He manages to climb inside and is able to press the button that sends out a distress beacon. Any member of the Bat family can pick it up. Jason tries to decide who he would hate the least to save him right now. He would prefer Cass, but she's in Hong Kong.

So Jason sits in his helmet and waits. It doesn't smell great. He makes a mental note to clean it later. He would climb out but if some random person saw him, he would be absolutely helpless.

Four minutes later, a shadow flies by overhead. Jason pulls himself up to the edge of the helmet and peeps out into the alley.

Red Robin is looking around the alley. He spots Red Hood's clothes and rushes over. "Hood?" he calls out and Jason is a little flattered by the urgency in Tim's voice. Sounds like he actually cares.

It takes a moment for Jason to muster the courage to make his presence known. Crawling out of the helmet, he says, "Here."

Tim spins around, not looking at the ground, of course, but up at normal Jason height. "Where?"

"Down here!" As amusing as it is to see Red Robin twirling about franticly, Jason wants to get the hell out of this nasty alley.

When Tim's eyes land on Jason in all of his naked, six inch glory, he freezes. "Uh," is all he croaks out.

"Yeah," Jason drawls, "This is all very fascinating. I've been shrunk. Can we get the hell out of here now?"

Tim just stares at him, pursing his lips, body rigid. "You're naked."

"Really?" Jason stands, arms akimbo. "That's what you're focusing on right now? Fucking pick me up and let's get out of here, dipshit."

Kneeling down, Tim says, "Um. Okay," and lays his open hand on the ground, palm up. Jason steps on. Tim lifts his hand slowly and carefully like what he's carrying is the most fragile, precious thing in the galaxy. It's almost comical how cautious he is. Also comical is how he's trying very hard not to look at Jason's dick. Which is hard seeing as it's only three inches below his face. "Is there um… something you can. Wear?"

"What do you want me to do, wrap myself in a leaf life Peter fucking Pan?"

"I think right now that would make you Tinkerbell."

"I wish I were Tinkerbell, then I could fly and I wouldn't need your dumb ass to carry me."

"You should be nice, Jason. I could just leave you here."

"Fuck you, I am nice. I'm pleasant and joyous and caring. Now let's get the fuck away from here. And grab my shit." Jason waves toward his gear.

Tim gives him a look eerily similar to Alfred's reproachful glare. It makes Jason feel the need to tack on a gruff, "Please."

"I'm gonna have to put you on my shoulder while I get your stuff. Can you balance alright?" Jason nods and Tim lifts him up. "How did this even happen?"

"Silly ass mage."

"…Care to elaborate? Wait, let me guess- you were being your pleasant, joyous, caring self and pissed of someone with magical powers and they shrunk you."

Jason doesn't reply.

"You really should be nice."

"Fuck you."

"That's not nice."


	4. a for effort

"Come on, baby," Jason coos.

"Jason, I don't." Tim crouches low on a rooftop, pulling his cape around him like a shield. "I don't know what to say."

Jason's voice vibrates in his ear. "Just tell me what you want to do to me. What you want me to do to you."

"Are you sure no one can hear?"

"Yes, Tim. I set up this frequency specifically so that no Bats can listen in."

Tucking himself farther into the shadows, Tim steels himself. "O-okay. Um. I uh." Great start.

Jason's reply barely covers his amusement. "What would you do if I were next to you right now?"

"K-kiss you?"

"And then?"

Hiding his reddening face in his hands, Tim squeaks out, "I'd uh. Would kiss your neck, touch your chest."

Jason hums encouragingly. "Would you strip me down?"

"No."

"No?"

"…I. I like your jacket and cargo pants and Kevlar and holsters and-" Tim cuts himself off, embarrassed at having admitted that.

The noise he's met with from communicator is part appreciative moan, part delighted giggle. "Good to know, baby. Keep going."

"I would push you against the wall," Tim states slowly.

Jason groans and Tim hears rustling from the other end, fabric be moved around, the mattress faintly squeaking. Tim thinks about what Jason's doing, all because of him, and he blurts out, "I would get on my knees."

"Oh, fuck yes."

"Unzip your pants and pull out your-" Tim breathes and whispers, "Cock."

"Yes! Tim- more, please."

He can hear Jason panting now, and the sound slicked skin on skin. Tim lets out a little whimper as he says, "I'd suck you, lick you." He tunes in fully to Jason, straining to catch every single noise he's making. He's enthralled. So enraptured that he misses the other noises, the ones right in front of him on the rooftop.

Tim himself in breathing heavily now, hard and needy. "Blow you slow until you came on my face."

The next moment is both blissful and mortifying as he hears his name being uttered by two different people. Jason yells it in ecstasy. Simultaneously, Batman barks it in shock.


	5. flaming

Stephanie always said Tim shouldn't be let out of the house. That he was a danger to himself and others. And Dick agreed. And Bruce and Cass and- well, everyone. Tim had laughed because really, it was true. Tim can laugh at himself. When you fuck up as often as Tim does, it's a requirement. Otherwise you'd end up bitter and resentful. But this time is special. Tim fucked up big. And he hadn't even left the house yet. The very much on fire house.

All he had wanted was to make diner. Not even something complicated, just an easy casserole. He wanted to do something nice for the family. Wanted to let Alfred have the night off. So he had set to it with much gusto, determinately tying the strings of his farm animal print apron. The oven was turned on, the veggies were being chopped with great precision, the pasta was boiling… It had all been going so well. And then Tim left the room for a minute- just one minute!- and he came back to smoke and heat and disaster. In short, Tim had set the kitchen aflame.

Alfred was going to kill him. Worse, Alfred would be _disappointed._

So here Tim stands, grass tickling his bare feet, in the backyard behind the manor. The rest of the family surrounds him. He should feel safe, being encompassed by all the people he loves most in the world. He would, if not for the situation. If not for the looks on their faces. Usually they laugh at Tim's antics- Tim, the bad-luck magnet. But not this time.

They as a group silently watch the fire eat at the house with stony faces and rigid postures. It had taken some time for the fire department to arrive, seeing as the manor is a fair distance from the city. Firefighters have been working for a while and it seems as though they've finally got it dying down.

One of the firefighters walks down the cobblestone path to where the family stands. He's carrying his helmet under an arm and sweat trickles down from his very mussed up hair and Tim precedes to sing in his head, "Too hot, hot damn. Call the police or the fireman…" Tim wants to go out right now and buy the Gotham City Fire Department calendar. All of them. Hopefully they were wise and put his guy on every page.

"Mr. Wayne?" The hot fireman asks.

Stepping forward, he offers his hand. "Bruce."

"Jason." He returns the handshake. "The good news is we got it contained before it spread. Bad news is the kitchen is… not really a kitchen anymore." Jason glances at Tim in his apron. "Seems it started because an oven mit caught fire. It was left on top of a burner on the stove."

At this point everyone turns to Tim. He lets his hair fall forward to cover his face. To cover his shame.

"We should be clearing out soon. The martial will write up a report for your insurance claim. Good luck with the… renovations, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce nods his thanks.

Jason takes a last look at Tim and _winks_. "Nice apron."

For a moment Tim is happy to have set the manor on fire.


	6. lost son

Tim sits across from Jason Todd in a shady 24 hour diner. Both are still bloody from their fight.

"You should tell Bruce you're alive." Tim winces. It hurts to speak. He's pretty sure his jaw is fractured.

"Why?"

"Because he loves you?" He hadn't intended for it to come out as a question.

"Loved." Jason scowls. He grabs a napkin and wets it with his glass of water and then gently swipes it along his bruised knuckles. "He loved the kid I was. I'm not that kid now. He can't love Red Hood. Better to leave him with the memory of me as Robin than what I am now."

"You're still Jason."

"I just told you I'm not."

"You're not the boy you were, maybe. I can't imagine any part of your innocence survived what you've been through."

Tim takes out a small bottle of disinfectant and rolls it across the table. Jason catches it and applies it to his cuts, hissing softly at the sting.

"But you're Jason. You're his son."

Jason's eyes flash up briefly and then back to his work. "He has a new son."

Tim sags minutely, shaking his head. "You said it yourself. I'm just the replacement."

The waitress approaches and refills their coffee mugs. They sip it in silence, letting the minutes rolls by. Tim rubs his sore shoulder.

"Sorry about that."

"No, you're not."

Jason smirks. "No." He fiddles with the sugar packets, forming them into a structure of some sort. "Hey, Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't tell."

Tim studies Jason. He sees a lot of things: anger, resentment, betrayal, desperation, fear.

"Okay."


	7. salted coffee

"Todd!"

"Yes?" he replies innocently, hiding the glee threatening to break through.

"You've ruined my breakfast, you mongrel!"

Sipping on his coffee (black today because, well, spoilers) Jason tries not to laugh. "How?"

"You know damn well," Damian growls from across the table. "If I had no regard for Pennyworth, I would throw this cereal at your face."

Alfred picks up Damian's bowl and carries it over to the sink. "I appreciate your not making a mess, Master Damian. What did you do to the cereal, Master Jason?"

"Nothing."

Alfred raises his eyebrow.

"The cereal is fine. Promise. It's the-"

"Good morning," Tim mumbles as he shuffles into the kitchen. He immediately goes to the coffee maker, grabbing his favorite mug and the sugar jar.

Jason looks pleadingly at Damian and Alfred, requesting their silence. Snorting, Damian nods. Of course he would want to see this. Alfred just leaves the kitchen, leaves the boys to their fights and pranks.

Having prepared his coffee, Tim takes a seat at the table.

Jason waits with bated breath. This is going to be so good…

Tim picks up the newspaper.

And sips his coffee.

And… flips to the next page. And sips his coffee again.

Jason and Damian look to each other in bewilderment.

"Um…Tim?"

"Yeah, Jason?"

"How's your coffee?"

"Great, thanks."

"So… it tastes alright? Like normal?"

Tim looks up and blinks a couple times, like he's just now registering that Jason is speaking and that he himself is awake and the world has color. He drinks his coffee, testing.

"Hmm. It is different. I like it."

Damian, having had enough of his 'brothers', walks away from the table muttering something about uncivilized swine.

Shaking his head, Jason sits back disappointedly. He had been so sure of a reaction, like Damian. Whatever. Tim is weird as fuck. And he still has Dick and Bruce yet.


	8. this cat

This fucking cat.

This fucking cat that got its dumb ass stuck in this damn tree that Tim is dangling from like a piñata. The back of his belt is caught on a branch which means he's hanging from his ass, folded in half with no other limbs nearby to steady himself. He's tried twisting around to grab the branch but he can't manage it. The cat meows.

"Oh shut it."

The cat is perched close to Tim's face, just out of reach. It hisses.

"Hey, that was way over the line, pal." And now he's scolding a cat.

"Hey, kid," a voice calls.

Tim looks down at a guy standing below him, leaning against the truck of the tree. He tries to sound very nonchalant as he throws out, "Hey. What's up?" He aims for casual. Like he's not suspended in the air with his shirt falling down in his armpits and Superboy underwear showing.

"You."

"Oh right, very clever. You're a funny guy." Tim gets sarcastic in times of stress. Or any time, really.

"You want some help?"

Biting back the sassy retort that first comes to mind, he answers, "Yeah. That'd be great."

The guy climbs the tree. Quickly and easily and far faster than Tim had done. He stops at the last branch that will support his weight which is directly below Tim. "Hi," he says. "I'm Jason."

"Tim."

"So, Tim. Why are you hanging from this tree?"

Rather than speaking Tim just points at the fucking cat.

"Oh. That your cat?"

"No. I just saw it stuck up here and decided to help out. You know, build up good karma and shit. Then this happened."

Jason grins. "Right. Well do you mind if I get the cat down first?"

Tim waves his dangling arm, giving permission. Jason scuffles along the branch he's standing on and reaches up toward the cat. Seeing the man approaching, the cat rears back and hisses. The moment Jason touches it, the fucking cat jumps and runs down the length of the tree, easily escaping. It lands on the ground and keeps running, across the park.

Tim gapes.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he shrieks.


	9. rubbed my lamp

Tim doubts the legitimacy of this man's claim. Granted, Tim has never met a genie before, but he's pretty sure they don't look like this guy. He's sure they don't wear leather jackets and ripped jeans and he's equally certain they don't curse so much and rant about… something about feminism. Tim lost track.

Then again, the guy did actually appear from the lamp. So. Tim decides to keep an open mind.

The genie stops his passionate tirade to ask, "Kid, you got a cigarette?"

"No," Tim replies, and then feels the need to tack on, "They're bad for you."

The genie scoffs and grunts, "Hold on." He disappears, a small cloud of green smoke marking where he had been. Less than a minute later he's back, accompanied by another puff of color. He's holding a fresh pack of cigarettes and a yellow lighter. He smacks the pack upside-down against his palm a few times saying, "I'm a fucking genie. Magical as hell. I don't actually have to worry about getting lung cancer." He rips off the clear plastic seal and opens the top. Pulling out a cigarette, he goes on, "Besides, even if they could hurt me, It'd be fucking worth it. I've been stuck in that damn lamp for- wait, what year is it?"

"2015."

"Shit," the genie mumbles around the cigarette in between his lips as he lights the tip. "Sixty two years. Do you know what's it's like to crave a smoke for sixty two years?" He looks at Tim like he actually expects an answer.

"Um, no. seeing as I'm only seventeen. And I don't smoke."

"Sassy fucker." He takes a couple puffs, eyes closed, enjoying being reunited with his vice. "Well it sucks, kid."

"I'm sure. What with them being addictive and all."

The genie rolls his eyes a bit and asks, "So, what's your name?"

"Tim."

"I'm Jason."

Tim makes a face.

"What," Jason says, a little defensively, "Something wrong with it?"

Shaking his head quickly, Tim answers, "I just didn't expect something… normal. I mean, you're a magical being."

"Magical beings were once people. Most of them, anyway."

Tim never thought of it that way. This genie, Jason, was once a man. A regular person with a regular life. Suddenly Tim wonders when he lived and where and with whom.

"So," Jason says, "What're your wishes? You get three."

Tim grins and even starts bouncing to keep in his excitement. He nearly yells, "I want to be a Jedi!"

"A what?"

"Jedi! Like in Star Wars!"

"…What is Star Wars?"

Tim goes still, eyes wide and mouth open in pure shock. "You don't know… oh my god." He looks at the genie with such pity.

Lighting another cigarette Jason mumbles, "The fuck is wrong with you, kid?"

"Jason," Tim says seriously, "Star Wars is the greatest movie and novel franchise ever produced."

"A movie."

"And books. There's thousands of years of history, compelling and relatable characters- it has its own mythology! It is-"

"A movie."

Tim huffs. "Movies. Six of them. You just. You need to watch them, okay? At least so you can know what a Jedi is to fulfill my wish."

"Six! You can't just tell me?"

Tim scoffs. "No."

"Fuck." Jason shoves his pack and lighter in the pocket of his jacket. "Fine. Let's go. Pick up my lamp. We need to bring it with us."

Tim complies and asks, "Why am I carrying it? Is it, like, a rule that you can't touch it or something?"

"No. I just don't want to have to lug it around. You're the one making me leave so you get to carry it."

"Well that's just petty, Jason."


End file.
